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It was what Mary called a poppy morning, though she only ever called it that to Annie. What she meant was, the sky was like a field of poppies – orange, red and pink – and so, so beautiful. She’d told Jem once that she thought the sky like that was one of the nicest things she ever did see, but her husband had shaken his head and told her it meant bad weather was on the way. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t – Mary had kept track. Seemed to her as if it was one of those bits of magic men were allowed to believe in, while women got burnt or drowned or sent away if they believed their cats were their friends or that certain plants could make certain problems go away. Slugs, the whole the lot of them, Annie had once said, though Mary thought Jem had been more of snail.
Slugs, snails or storms, it didn’t matter now, because Mary was there besides Annie and she could call it a poppy morning if she wanted and Annie would know what she meant. The orangey light was shining in through the nursery window where the two children of the house were playing and Annie and Mary were acting as nurses since their actual nurse was a dozy woman who sipped all evening at her bottle and never woke on time. No one alive and grown up in the house knew that yet, and the children kept her lateness to themselves, because they liked their hour of play, before the adults were there, all grumbling and mumbling and saying this and that about what the girls needed to do better.
The two girls themselves were very different. Mary and Annie remembered the first being born, and the moment they’d looked down into her face, Annie had said she’ll be a right cow, that one – look at the scowl already. Mary had tried to be kinder, really she had, but Annie had been right. The girl had turned out a right cow, or, not an actual cow, but a mean person. She was always pulling her sister’s hair and then pretending she hadn’t done it. She’d start a game of hide and seek then leave her sister hidden with only Mary, Annie and the garden for company. If something of hers broke, then she took her sister’s. If she’d finished her supper and wanted more, she’d swipe whatever was left on her sister’s plate. She told tales to their parents – to their father, mostly – and then, when the sister cried from the trouble, she’d stroke her hair and tell her not to mind it. The little sister loved the elder one and Mary and Annie didn’t blame young Kitty for that. The old one, Ellie, often played very nicely and, Mary said to Annie that she was a bit like fennel – very, very tasty but in the end, it would give poor Kitty an upset tummy. Annie nodded, I suppose we’ll be around to find out.
Perhaps they would. Perhaps they would have received their blessed sucking offs, who could tell. For now, they were sat watching the girls build a tower of cards, both too focused to worry about being mean or kind or wronged. The world was orange and Mary felt happy as she looked on at her charges, as Annie sat besides her, their arms just touching. She remembered then, a question she’d meant to ask a long time ago but always forgot, because it was the sort of question that sometimes hurt, and the kind of question that didn’t matter anymore, and the kind of question that slipped out of her mind for some reason whenever she and Annie were taking their walks or sitting with the others.
‘Was yous ever blessed with little ones?’ she said at last, turning to her companion.
‘Cursed with them, you mean?’ Annie turned her nose up, ‘No, praise the lord – or rather, my husband’s thick skull.’
‘Oh?’
‘I reckon he was hoping for divine conception. Never wanted to get down to the business, Josiah didn’t. Well, that suited me just fine – one thing he was good for, in fact.’
‘Oh, wells, that’s good.’
‘And you? Were you – blessed?’
Mary shook her head, then nodded. ‘Once, but it was only with the livings for three days. Too small for this world, I think. No more after that.’
‘Ah, Mary,’ Annie patted her arm. ‘Boy or girl? Did you name it?’
‘A girl. Called her Alice, after Jem’s mother. Then she died, so very, very small. And then Jem died, so, no more.’
‘Ah, Mary,’ Annie said again and reached down to squeeze her hand. Mary always liked it when she did that. Annie was so often very like a bramble bush, but she had moments like these, when she was like the sweet berries that those spikes looked after.
They sat quietly for a moment, their hands still joined, Annie’s eyes narrowed as Eleanor began to snatch cards from Kitty’s pile now that her own was gone. Mary let herself rock back and forth and enjoy the prettiness of the morning.
‘How could I forget the best part?’ Annie said, looking away from the girls, ‘You’ll never guess what Josiah wanted to call them, the children, if we’d of had them?’
‘Turnip-Head?’ Mary offered, ‘Not-a-Cough?’
Annie laughed. ‘Oh, he’d of loved that last one. Not-a-Cough, come here and say your prayers! But it be not those. He wanted seven, or so he said, seven children, and I said to him, is that a jape, and he said, no, one for each day of creation. Seven children and we would call them Godfavour, Godpower, Good-work, Give-thanks, Godsgift, Generosity and – Grace. Think he ran out of good ones in the end, so I told him we ought call the last one God-Help-Me and he didn’t get the joke, such a bowl of cold porridge of man, that one.’
Mary laughed, imaging Josiah as a pot of thick, abandoned porridge, and leaned against Annie, feeling half warm, half cold, as Eleanor stood up and flicked the whole tower of cards down into her sister’s face. Kitty’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open.
‘I had to,’ Eleanor hissed. ‘Or Mamma or Papa or Nurse will know we’ve been naughty. I’m only helping you. Now, hide the cards away. Quickly.’
Kitty did as she was told and Mary’s heart did ache. She thought of seven unwanted children, then of one lost one, then of the two who would grow up in front of her, and all the sad things they would have to face. But Mary couldn’t dwell for long, not when the morning was orange and Annie was by her side and nothing could really hurt her anymore. She couldn’t ache too much, not when she had a happy laugh inside her, and something that felt like her mother’s warm stew after a long day, like a Sunday afternoon, when the work was done and all that was left was to sit and watch the clouds pass.